Shu Mingye walked slowly toward his study. His mind was anything but calm. His thoughts spun in tight, endless circles, all orbiting around one overly polite, overly smiley, overly suspicious man: Prince Lu.
What in the world was that prince doing in Shulin?
More importantly, what was with all the drinks and compliments? Sitting there, sipping tea with Linyue like they were an old married couple celebrating their eighth anniversary. Complimenting her. Smiling at her. Chatting with her. Ignoring him completely, as if he, the actual King of Shulin, the terrifying "Demon King of the South," was nothing more than palace furniture. Very expensive, very dangerous background furniture.
And the worst part?
He didn't even know why it bothered him so much. It just did. Something about it itched behind his eyes. Irritated his teeth. Set his spine on edge. He didn't like that prince. Not even a little.
Shu Mingye let out a heavy sigh, the kind that rattled in his chest. Then he shoved the door to his study open. His gaze landed instantly on the small wooden box sitting squarely in the middle of the table.
Ah. That thing.
The box Linyue had practically shoved into his hands back at the secret passage. He had expected her to show up within a day or two, pounding on his door, demanding it back. But… nothing. Not a word. Not even a sideways glance. It just sat there, silent and forgotten, mocking him with its mystery.
Before he could glare at it any harder, a soft knock came at the door.
"Lord," a maid's voice came from the other side, "it's ready."
Right. The new courtyard.
Shu Mingye had finally given up on pretending their current residence was even remotely acceptable. That so-called "courtyard" was basically a glorified woodpile with windows. If someone sneezed too hard, the roof would collapse. If someone lit incense, the whole place would go up like kindling.
Shu Mingye had given up on pretending their current living situation was even remotely acceptable. That so-called "courtyard" they were staying in now was practically a pile of firewood with windows. If someone sneezed too hard, the roof would collapse. If someone lit incense, the whole place would go up like kindling. He wouldn't be surprised if they accidentally burned it down while trying to boil water.
Actually, with that chaotic group? He would be more surprised if they didn't. So he had quietly ordered a different courtyard to be cleaned, repaired, and secretly upgraded with actual functioning doors that actually closed instead of politely leaning open, and walls that didn't rattle in the wind. Much safer, and significantly less flammable courtyard close to the main palace. A place where he could keep an eye on them. Strictly for practical reasons, of course. Not for anything else. Definitely not. Just… for safety. Stability.
Very logical. Very kingly.
She had insisted earlier that she needed sleep—beauty sleep, she had called it. What nonsense. As if sleep could somehow make her look more beautiful. Ridiculous. Obviously, it had been an excuse to avoid further conversation. She was probably still awake. Maybe. And if she was awake, then it made perfect sense to move her to the new courtyard now. Safer. Cleaner. Less likely to spontaneously combust in the middle of the night. No loose roof tiles plotting murder from above. Logical. Reasonable. Kingly.
Before his brain could finish weighing the logic, his feet had already decided for him. They carried him across the palace grounds, steady and determined, as if led by some invisible string.
"Just check," he muttered to himself, adjusting his sleeves like that somehow made him look more rational. "If she's asleep, I'll come again tomorrow. Very normal. Very kingly."
The garden path twisted under his boots, lined with bushes that had given up on life years ago. The trees leaned tiredly, their branches sighing like they were begging for retirement. He passed through the crooked shadows until he reached the little courtyard hidden behind the overgrowth.
The door was closed.
Then he heard voices from inside.
A man's voice.
Shu Mingye froze.
"Wait, wait, wait, Linyue! I'm not ready yet!"
It was Prince Lu's voice.
Prince Lu was in her room? At night? Calling her Linyue? By name? No title? And not ready for what?
Shu Mingye's eye twitched.
And then came Linyue's voice, calm as ever: "What's there to be ready about?"
The next moment, Prince Lu again, sounding alarmed: "Wait—be gentler! You're going to tear it off!"
Shu Mingye: "?!"
WHAT WAS SHE NOT MAKING HIM READY FOR?? TEAR WHAT OFF?!
Shu Mingye's brain shut down for a full second. His eye twitched for the third time. It was starting to develop a rhythm.
He stared at the door.
Linyue's voice came again, cool and casual like they weren't apparently disassembling something inside: "Isn't it better to just tear it off rather than keep pulling?"
Tear what? Pull what? WHY ARE THERE OPTIONS??
Then came the final blow.
Prince Lu: "But it really hurts…"
Followed by a very real, very dramatic yelp of pain.
Linyue, voice flat: "I'm hurting too. Do you think this is easy?"
WHAT. WAS. HURTING.
WAIT. SHE WAS HURTING TOO??
Shu Mingye's eye twitched again—so hard, it could've counted as a full-body workout.
Wasn't she the one doing the tearing and pulling? Why was she hurt? And what exactly wasn't easy? The tearing? The pulling? The whatever-it-was-they-were-doing?
His royal brain, usually so sharp and calculating, was now overheating. They wouldn't, they couldn't be doing that in his palace… right? Not here. Not under his roof. But then again… What if?
His mind whirled with dangerous possibilities. He felt like steam was about to shoot out of his ears. And just when he was trying to calm himself with logic, disaster escalated.
Inside the room, Prince Lu's voice rose in desperation: "Linyue, can you at least put your leg somewhere else?"
LEG?? SOMEWHERE ELSE? WHERE EXACTLY IS HER LEG RIGHT NOW???
His ears turned red. Not from embarrassment. This was rage. Righteous, fiery, furniture-breaking rage. He could already see the headline: "Prince of Luyan Dies Mysteriously After Asking for Leg Adjustment."
Inside the room, Linyue's voice rang out—sharp and annoyed: "Where else can I put it? Be quiet. Just hold it tight."
Shu Mingye's brain exploded. HOLD WHAT TIGHT?!
Then Prince Lu's voice followed, strained and cracking: "I really can't hold it anymore!"
Shu Mingye: "!!!"
WHAT—WHAT COULDN'T HE HOLD ANYMORE?! HIS BREATH? HIS SHAME? HIS PANTS?!
Then came Linyue again, absolutely done with life: "Just stay still. Don't move!"
Prince Lu, almost whimpering: "I'm trying… I'm trying hard not to move…"
And finally, Linyue snapped: "Stop wriggling around like a worm!"
That was it.
Shu Mingye's vision turned a dangerous shade of red. Demon red. Catastrophic-end-of-the-world red. This wasn't just disrespect. This was a crime. Not a political crime. Not treason. No, this was personal. Deeply personal. Soul-level betrayal wrapped in suspicious noises and weird leg placement.
His face grew darker. His brows sank into a permanent frown. Veins popped on his forehead. His jaw clenched so tightly he was two seconds away from breaking his own royal teeth.
Misunderstanding? What misunderstanding?! At this point, if they were not doing something shameful inside, then they were professional actors with an evil script written by demons.
He had reached the end of reason. The bottom of patience. The edge of his royal restraint. With a sharp breath and murder in his eye, Shu Mingye raised his leg and—
BAM!
The poor door flew off its hinges, landed face-first on the floor, and died a tragic, splintery death. And he stood there, tall, furious… ready to burn the whole room down.